Cause For Actual Pregnant Pause

, , , , , | Healthy | January 30, 2018

(I am a doctor at a local clinic. I read the file for my next patient, a 21-year-old woman, complaining about stomach cramps, sickness, and “private” concerns. People are often shy and refuse to share their symptoms with the nurse. I go into the room and start talking to the patient.)

Me: “Hello, I am Dr. [My Name]. What seems to be the problem?”

Patient: “I keep getting stomach cramps, and I threw up this morning. It was really gross… and, um… ah…”

(The patient is acting uncomfortable.)

Patient: “I haven’t had my period in three months! It’s always been irregular, but I haven’t ever gone this long! I must be really sick! Please help me.”

(Utilizing my $50,000 education and 14 years of experience, I make the first suggestion that comes to mind.)

Me: “Is there any chance that you might be pregnant?”

(The patient looks disgusted by this.)

Patient: “Oh, so, if a woman is sick it means that she must be pregnant. No, she can’t be dying or anything; she must be a slut. You men are all the same!”

Me: “Ma’am, it is just procedure. I have to check things off the list to find out what is wrong. Can you please answer my question?”

Patient: “No. I want a woman doctor. Get me your woman doctor or I am leaving!”

Me: “There are only me and three male PAs.”

Patient: “Humph!”

(The patient walked out of the examination room and out of the office, complaining of sexism and “unprofessional behavior” to everybody in the waiting room. Six months later, I got another patient file for a woman wanting a prenatal exam. Now, guess who it could possibly be? The lesson here is that there are a lot of things that share symptoms with pregnancy, but pregnancy is FAR more common than most of them. When a doctor asks you if you are pregnant, it is not an accusation; it is an important diagnostic tool.)

Pot Calling The Kettle Black, Noisily

, , , , | Healthy | January 29, 2018

I have to have emergency surgery. After some time in the recovery ward, I am wheeled into a double-occupancy room, but there’s no one in the other bed. I wake up a little later to find the curtains between the beds drawn, and correctly assume I now have a roommate. I hear her whimpering often, but I think nothing of it, because I’m whimpering, too.

We are both checked hourly, but we have different nurses, so basically there’s someone coming in every half hour or so. Whenever my obs are being done, I can hear her huffing and sighing, the way people do when they’re trying to sleep but someone’s making too much noise. I feel a bit guilty, but what can I do about it?

During the night, I hear her groaning whenever she tries to move. I’m doing the same, so I am quite shocked when she rather curtly says, “Can you keep it down, please? You’re always moaning and groaning! I am trying to sleep here!”

I say nothing. I’m in too much pain and too drugged up to attempt a comeback or an argument.

Later that morning, I’m woken up by loud voices and ear-piercing squeals. My roommate’s family are visiting. She has two small children who are yelling and squealing and fighting with each other. They zoom around the room, pulling the curtains between our beds back and forth, playing in the wheelchairs, and often bumping into my bed, causing excruciating pain. Her husband is loud and gregarious, and neither of them make even the slightest effort to control their kids.

I’m overwhelmed and hurting and I start to cry. The nurse comes in to do my obs, takes one look at the scene, and barks at the father and kids to keep it down, that they’re in a hospital, and that there are a lot of sick people who are trying to rest. She then manipulates me into a wheelchair and says that now would be a good time to take me for a shower, to get away from the noise. As I’m being wheeled out, I hear my roommate say to her husband, “God, she can talk! She’s kept me up all night whining and carrying on!”

IOU One IUD, Part 2

, , , , , | Healthy | January 25, 2018

(I go to a family doctor, meaning she’s qualified to treat children and adults, so she’s been seeing me since I was 12. I’m 18 at the time of the story. This conversation takes place during my annual check-up.)

Me: “Can you write me a referral to the gynecologist? I want to get an IUD.”

Doctor: “What? Why do you need an IUD? You said on the forms that you’re not sexually active.”

Me: “Well, I’m not yet, but I’m leaving for college, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Doctor: “No. No, you’re too young for birth control.”

Me: “Excuse me? I’m eighteen.”

Doctor: “And you’re not married. You’re too young for birth control, and besides, if you have an IUD and you get pregnant, chances are you’d miscarry when you had it removed.”

Me: “Being married doesn’t have anything to do with it, and if I got pregnant while on birth control, it’s not like I’d want to carry the pregnancy to term, anyway. And isn’t the chance of getting pregnant with an IUD, like, less than one percent?”

Doctor: “It doesn’t matter; I won’t write you a referral. Does your mother know you’re planning this? I need to speak to your mother.”

Me: “Hang on. I am eighteen years old—”

(She walks out of the office and into the waiting room and gets my mother. My mom comes into the exam room and listens to her, while I protest.)

Mom: “Um… [Doctor], you do realize you just committed a pretty major HIPPA violation, right? She’s eighteen, and legally an adult. She’s allowed to make these choices herself.”

Doctor: “Well! I am not writing this referral for a young girl to be given an IUD!”

Me: “Fine! I’ll figure it out myself!”

(My mom helped me get an appointment with a gynecologist — which my insurance allows me to do, but the way the system is set up, for non-emergencies it’s much easier to get an appointment if your GP gives you a referral first — and we filed a complaint with the hospital against the doctor. She was an older woman, and apparently this wasn’t the first time she’d tried to push her own agenda on a patient, but it was the first time she’d disclosed medical information without someone’s consent, so she was “encouraged to retire” and no longer practices medicine.)


What A Diabeetus, Part 3

, , , , , | Healthy | January 23, 2018

(I work in the kitchen of a small hospital. I go to each room and take the patients’ orders for their meals. One new patient is a woman who is on a diabetic diet.)

Patient: *after ordering a huge meal, including iced tea with “a crapload of sugar”* “…and can my brother order something, too?”

Me: “Sure. It’s $5.40 for a guest tray, and you can order whatever you want.”

Patient: “Wait, you mean he can get all the food he wants for $5.40? Holy crap! This is the best hospital ever.”

(The patient’s brother orders a large meal, including a diet soda.)

Me: “All right. Now, since you’re on a diabetic diet, we’ll probably have to cut some of this out, because the rules say we can only give you so many carbs.”

Patient: “Whatever. I eat what I want.”

Me: “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”

(We end up sending her about half of what she ordered, and using artificial sweetener instead of sugar.)

Patient: *calling back after getting her food* “Um, I didn’t get all my food.”

Me: “Since you’re on a diabetic diet, we can only send you that much. Sorry.”

Patient: “Well, my brother didn’t get what he ordered, either. He was supposed to get…” *she proceeds to list the things she didn’t get*

Me: *after a bit of futilely trying to reason with her* “All right. I can bring a little more food to him.”

(The cook lets me bring some more food to the brother.)

Me: “I’d like to see him put sugar in his diet soda.”

What A Diabeetus, Part 2
What A Diabeetus

Laughter Is The Best Drug

, , , , , , , | Healthy | January 20, 2018

(Several years ago, I had an accident that required a skin graft on a knuckle. Present day: I hit my hand while working, causing the skin graft to split open, meaning I need stitches. I get to the hospital at about 4:30 pm, and it is PACKED. It is almost 2:00 in the morning before the doctor can even have a look at me.)

Doctor: “Yeah, you will need stitches, so I’m going to give you some novocaine to numb your finger up. We’ll give it 15 minutes to take effect, and get started.”

Me: “Don’t worry about that. It is a skin graft. You would need to poke me where I can feel it, to numb me up where I already can’t feel anything. Just sew it up, please.”

(The doctor agrees, gets a nurse to bring in the kit and hand him stuff, and starts stitching. I can’t feel a thing. After a few minutes, the nurse leans over and asks:)

Nurse: “So, is the novocaine still working?”

(In my defence, I am tired and incredibly bored, so I just look up with a horrified expression and say:)


(The nurse’s eyes almost pop out, and she is ready to flip out. The doctor just looks up at me and says:)

Doctor: “Oh, shut up, you baby.”

(Sorry, nurse, but the doc and I got a good laugh, at least.)

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